I typically celebrate my diaversary with an ice cream cone. And some insulin.
Each year, I go through the events of that day in my head. I close my eyes and wish I could thank each of the paramedics and doctors and nurses who saved my life that day. I squeeze my mother's hand, knowing that she had to walk in and find her little girl on the floor of the kitchen in the state I was in.
Each year, I go through the events of that day in my head. I close my eyes and wish I could thank each of the paramedics and doctors and nurses who saved my life that day. I squeeze my mother's hand, knowing that she had to walk in and find her little girl on the floor of the kitchen in the state I was in.
This year, I celebrate with my husband and children. I kiss Hubster a little longer before he heads out the door. I hug Dibbs a little tighter, bury my nose in his squishy cheek a little longer. I smile and laugh with my long-hoped for daughter. I leave the kitchen messy. (Who am I kidding? My kitchen is always messy.)
I wish I could share this video with that ten year old girl in the ER. The one whose parents are scared. Because if they were to hear the voice of their future granddaughter say the word "diabetes" with this much sweetness, they might worry a little less.
